Touch and Go Epilog to Stool of Penance
by lonaj
Summary: Re-posting of Touch and Go, with revisions to change to R-rating
1. Default Chapter

MAIN CHARACTERS:  Roxton and Marguerite

SPOILERS:  Major spoiler for my story Stool of Penance.  Recommend that you read it first.  Don't think there are any episode spoilers.

DISCLAIMER:  I'm only playing with them, Sir Arthur and Mr. New Line.  Honest.  I'll put them back just the way they were.

AUTHOR'S NOTE:  This story has TWO endings!  They are equally valid, just written with a slightly different tone.  I couldn't choose between them, so I decided to post both.

With the change in posting rules at Fan Fiction net I have modified this story slightly so that I can rate it R.  It is a re-post.  Sorry about that.

"It has been touch and go for our lives," said Lord John, gravely, "and I could not think of a more rotten sort of death than to be outed by such filthy vermin.  I was sorry to fire my rifle, but, by Jove! there was no great choice."  The Lost World by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle 

Memory, at least, will never fail me, for so long as the breath of life is in me, every hour and every action of that period will stand out as hard and clear as do the first strange happenings of our childhood.  No new impressions could efface those which are so deeply cut.  The Lost World by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle

**********

A diamond night, sharpened with  
new life and ancient memories.

Tonight was his,  
the essential thing.  
Not yesterday  
with tears  
or tomorrow  
with questions.  
Just tonight.

..........

Challenger gracelessly plopped down beside Malone and Veronica, his long arms and legs flying out in several directions.  "Whew!  What a triumph!  I can't believe I actually did it!  Wasn't that wonderful?  I'm going to return with General Gengal and confer with Milady's alchemist colleagues.  They definitely have some secrets worth my time."  Challenger curtailed his self-congratulation when he took in Malone and Veronica's sober faces.  "So how is Bruiser coming along?  Is Marguerite over there with him?"

Malone looked across the glade to Marguerite's bent form.  In the firelight it was hard to be sure how she fared, but the dim white rectangle that was her blouse rocked from side to side.  She might be crying.

Veronica squeezed Malone's hand and whispered to him, "She's okay," and then answered Challenger for both of them.  "Bruiser didn't make it."

Challenger's satisfied smile collapsed.  "Oh no.  That _is_ bad news.  Not a clean sweep after all.  I'm so sorry."  His eyes followed the direction of Malone's.  "How's Marguerite?"

Malone shook his head.  "Not so good."  Rolling to his knees, he climbed up to his feet.  "I think maybe you should talk to her.  She's been by herself for quite a while."  Taking advantage of a quick tug from Malone's offered arm, Veronica stood up as well then hand-in-hand the two of them took a few steps through the grass.  When Challenger didn't follow, Malone looked back.  "Professor?"

Challenger shook his head.  "I can't face Marguerite, Ned.  What would I say?  How am I to even live with her now?"

Somewhere along the line Malone had begun to slip into Roxton's patriarchal role.  He offered his best advice:  "I don't know, but you'll have to try."

Challenger sighed and rubbed his mouth with the back of a hand.  "You're right, of course, but I think I'll need some backup.  Wait here a minute, will you?"

"General Gengal, Marguerite still has a gun.  Perhaps you and your Lizards best wait here," Challenger said, holding up one hand to halt the small Lizard party.  "I'll talk to her first."  He handed the torch he carried to a Lizard, took a few steps forward, and spoke to the back of the silent, kneeling form.  "Marguerite?  It's George.  Can I talk to you?"

Marguerite didn't turn around.  "Talk away, George.  I'm listening."  Her voice had a giggly, happy sound.  That didn't bode well for Marguerite's mental state.  Marguerite bent over and whispered something to the dark shadow lying before her, something Challenger couldn't quite hear.

Challenger exchanged sad looks with Malone and Veronica.  He cleared his throat.  "I would have come sooner, but I just found out.  I'm sorry."  He swallowed.  This was even more difficult than he'd anticipated.  All he could see of Marguerite was the torchlight reflected off her white blouse, her brunette hair merged with the night.  "I'm sure Bruiser didn't suffer."

"Don't worry about it, George."  A pale oval of face appeared as Marguerite half turned to look at him.  Flickering torch-light glinted off the tears running down her face, but she seemed … yes, she _was_ smiling.

_How brave!_ Challenger thought.  _We've all underestimated Marguerite. _ But with her next words Challenger abruptly changed his mind – what seemed strength just might be insanity.

"But I guarantee you he's _going_ to suffer.  A _lot_."  Marguerite jumped sideways as if she'd been poked in the ribs.  Her hand made a slapping motion behind her.  "Stop that!"

Seriously worried about Marguerite's mental state, Challenger took several more steps forward, followed closely by Malone and, further back, the Lizards.  The details of Marguerite's face sharpened, but her body blocked out most of Bruiser's corpse.  Malone stepped past Challenger.  The older man smiled in relief as the younger took the initiative.  Malone had become almost as adept as Roxton had been at handling Marguerite.  "We have to take Bruiser away now.  The General … the General wants to light the funeral pyre."

This time Marguerite laughed outright.  "Bruiser's going to have something to say about that, Ned."  A large shape arose between Marguerite and the dim coals of her dying fire.  It wasn't the wolf.  It had the broad shoulders and thick arms of a man.  Marguerite turned away from Challenger and Malone and put her hands on the man-shape's shoulders.  "John, be careful!  You shouldn't be sitting up yet!"

A resonant voice Challenger had thought never to hear again answered, "I'm fine, Marguerite."  Then a bit louder it boomed out, "Challenger?  Malone?  Could you give me a hand up?  Marguerite's absolutely determined to keep me flat on my back!"

The first to recover was the jungle-trained huntress, Veronica.  Very little surprised Veronica for long.  "Roxton!" she squealed.  She ran past Malone, went to her knees and squeezed past Marguerite to hug the man-shape.  "Oh God, Roxton, where have you been?  We thought you were dead."

Malone, perhaps not believing his own ears but certainly believing Veronica's, came next.  His grapple threatened to knock Roxton to the ground.  With both Malone and Veronica now crowding at Roxton's side, Marguerite was forced to move back.  "Hey, I was here first!"

Roxton chuckled at them all.  "Help me up, you two!  Where's Challenger?  I need to tell him that his four minutes weren't enough – Marguerite says I took more like five."

Between the three of them, Malone, Veronica and Marguerite, they had Roxton on his feet:  Malone and Veronica pulling on his arms and Marguerite saving Roxton's dignity with a last-second strategic save of the Lizard blanket that had been lying across his thighs.  Marguerite wailed, "Be careful of him!  He just died, you know!"

Challenger pushed through them all to embrace Roxton, his arms wrapping fiercely tight.  "You bloody bastard!" Challenger rasped.  He stepped back to hold Roxton at arm's length and inspect him.  "You were the wolf?  All this time you were the wolf?  And you didn't let us know?  You went through my sham of a cure and you didn't let me _know_?  If I'd had any idea …  You have a lot to make up for, Roxton!"

Marguerite thrust herself between the two men and squared off with Challenger.  "Get in line, George!  I'm taking him apart first!"  Everyone laughed, including Marguerite.  With all her sadness gone, she seemed human again, or at least as human as Marguerite ever got.

"How did you get past our sentries?" General Gengal demanded from the center of the glade.  In the excitement of Roxton's resurrection, the Lizards' undertaker detail had been forgotten.  The General's Lizards were lined up, swords drawn and arrows nocked, ready to bring down the new threat discovered in their midst – even though the nearly naked threat was patently unarmed.

Challenger bounded in the Lizards' direction.  "No, no, General!  May I present to you Lord John Richard Roxton, the true and loyal friend of His Imperial Majesty Tribune?"  Challenger wrapped an arm around the General's leather-clad shoulders and turned back to indicate the happy reunion.  "I swear.  It's truly the most wonderful thing I've ever seen!  He's risen from the dead!"

**********

Black lies outside of time  
and pays truth only at midnight.

If it had been anyone   
but him,  
she would not  
have cared and  
said long gone.  
And he would have,  
she knew he would have,  
if she'd asked.

..........

After things had finally calmed down, when Malone, Veronica and Challenger had all embraced and berated Roxton; after Challenger had scrutinized every inch of Roxton's skin and questioned him until Roxton's head spun; after General Gengal had demanded, and received, proof in the form of a short, shallow and bleeding cut on Roxton's hand that the Human no longer harbored the regeneration virus; after Milady had been introduced to Roxton and they'd embraced and congratulated each other as fellow resurrectees; and after the Lizard soldiers had hunted Roxton down a pair of breeches and cold dinner rations and lit Gorkal's lonely funeral pyre and built the campfires up again and re-posted fresh sentries – after all that, it had been late, and Roxton and Marguerite had lain down to sleep without any further chance for words, and although it was Roxton who'd been silent for two months, Marguerite spoke first.

"John, are you awake?"  Marguerite's whisper came from within the circle of Roxton's arms.  As the pleasant armful spoke, it twisted about to face him.  That put Marguerite's lips less than a breath away from Roxton's and her body even closer.  Through Marguerite's shirt, soft breasts pressed into Roxton's bare chest, their roundness shifting easily with every breath.  He could only suppose Marguerite had unfastened her camisole.  Of its own accord his investigating hand slipped within her half-unbuttoned blouse.  It found smooth, pliable softness, loose lace and an open invitation to further exploration.

Roxton had often slept within arm's reach of Marguerite, on the trail or on the run, but such proximity always strained his self-control.  And as the wolf he'd just spent two months watching Marguerite in every intimate privacy … and dreaming -- dreaming sweetly erotic fantasies that had been more precious than breath.

Roxton's hand took a survey of its newly conquered territory, the rounded slopes, the firmly flexible peaks and the deep valley in between.  Roxton's breath and sense left him altogether, and his body reacted apart from his mind and his mouth covered Marguerite's.  Both his hands moved to Marguerite's trim behind and pressed it as he surged against her, while his dreams merged with reality and he lost track of which was which.

Marguerite's hands held on tightly to Roxton's shoulders and her legs spread out.  She sucked his tongue.  Her pulse beat wildly against his chest.

It was all too much.  If one of them didn't stop, Malone, Veronica, Challenger and every Lizard on the plateau could be damned for all Roxton cared.  He'd have his Marguerite here, tonight, by this campfire, in front of them, and let them hide their eyes if they didn't want to watch.

Breathing fast, Roxton rolled away and onto his back.  Damn, these leather breeches were tight!  If he didn't take care, he'd burst a seam or hurt himself.  "I'm awake now, Marguerite.  Wuh-what is it?"

Marguerite closed the distance between them and began to slide a hand along his thigh.  He gently deflected her and quietly whispered, "No, love.  We'd better not."  So instead the hand went up Roxton's arm and massaged his head and neck, making him feel very much the wolf again.  She'd been doing exactly that same thing to him through a furry wolf coat only a few hours ago.

Minutes passed before Marguerite spoke.  Her voice sounded calmer than he would have expected.  "When you were Bruiser, did you dream?  The old woman, Jadna's mother, said I called you with my dreams."  There was a long pause.  Roxton had almost decided she'd finished when her whisper began again.  "After Bruiser … after you started sleeping in the tree house, I dreamed of you every night.  I dreamed …"

Roxton pushed himself up on an elbow and put a finger on Marguerite's lips.  He nodded to where Malone and Veronica's blond heads lay together not far away.  The two had been up and on the trail most of the night before and thankfully they'd slept through Roxton and Marguerite's little activity.  But Roxton had to know.  "You dreamt?" he asked softly.  She nodded.  "Let me guess – you dreamt about pistols, and … and target practice, right?"

Marguerite's smile arose like a luminescent plateau dawn.  Roxton could practically see it glow.  "Yes, you let me shoot my favorite gun."

A subdued version of Roxton's rumbling chuckle answered that.  "God, I wish we were alone.  I'd like to shoot it again."

Marguerite sighed.  "We aren't though."  She turned her head to look at the fire and their circle of sleeping friends.

Roxton pulled Marguerite's head back and bent his close.  "We will be.  I swear it.  Tomorrow."  He covered her lips with his and an adventuresome and eager tongue gave Marguerite further proof of his desire.

**********

Orange flames laddering the night  
destroy death and blind bright regret.

She asks only tonight.  
To please her,  
he gives  
his heat.  
His passion.  
His body  
in hers.  
He fills her soul again.

..........

"So just why _were_ you here?" Malone asked, indicating the smoking lava field with the barrel of his rifle.  "If you weren't tracking Gorkal, what brought you to this particular bit of plateau?  It's not exactly what you'd call a happy hunting ground, even for a wolf."

Roxton raked a hand through the short bristly haircut Marguerite had given him this morning then tugged on his waistband.  Malone smiled.  Roxton had been tweaking his clothes quite a bit.  They must feel a little strange after running around barefoot and stark naked for two months.  Challenger had contributed a white undershirt, the Lizards had scrounged a pair of boots and socks out of the jumble of torn packs back at the camp, and Malone had offered his spare pistol.  With all that added to the tight black leather Lizard breeches, Roxton only lacked a hat to be fully clothed.

The General, Milady and Challenger were investigating Gorkal's dark lair for clues as to how and on what the monster had been dining the past few months.  Veronica with the Lizard soldiers checked in the rainforest for abnormal tracks.  Close by Roxton and Malone, Marguerite strolled, looking down into the crevice where Bruiser had nearly died, a frown on her face.  Roxton inclined his head in Marguerite's direction and whispered, "Not now.  I'll tell you about that later."

Malone nodded an understanding.  But as the two of them watched Marguerite, he remembered the details of their adventure here – the full moon and Bruiser's struggle to reach the lava-filled crevice.  Given Roxton's protective nature, suddenly it all made sense.  Malone put his hand on Roxton's shoulder and pulled him conspiratorially close.  "You were going to kill yourself, weren't you?  You thought you were a werewolf and you were going to dive into that lava pool."

"Malone!  I swear, man, if you tell her that, I'll eat your heart for lunch!"  Roxton's threatening growl sounded more wolf than human.

Malone grinned at the older man.  He hadn't realized how much he'd missed Roxton's granite solidity.  "Don't worry, your secret's safe with me.  But you should've let us …"

"And what secret is that, John?" Marguerite's voice asked from behind Roxton.

Roxton spun smoothly around.  His forced smile wouldn't have fooled a ten-year-old.  "Oh, uh, the secret of … the secret of why it takes you so long to get ready in the morning, Marguerite."

Marguerite folded her arms and gazed steadily at Roxton.  "John, you shouldn't lie.  You don't have the face for it."  Then aside to Malone, "Ned, if you want to live until tomorrow, you'll tell me this secret."

Scanning the rainforest that edged the barren lava field, Malone heartily wished for a savior, but Veronica didn't return.  "It's nothing really, Marguerite."  He tried to ignore Roxton's glower.  "We were comparing notes on the werewolf experience."

"Werewolf experience?"  Marguerite's eyes went round.  She looked at Roxton.  "You thought you were a werewolf, John?  Why … ?"  Marguerite stopped talking and looked towards the crevice.  Perhaps she too remembered the full moon that night, but Marguerite kept her thoughts inside her head, and only a frown escaped to indicate their direction.  She turned to Roxton.  "Where's Challenger got to?  He and Milady wanted to tell me something."

Roxton's hand and nod indicated the direction of Gorkal's foul lair, and without another word Marguerite left, her retreating steps applied forcefully to the innocent ground.

Malone closed with Roxton again.  Together they watched the departure of Marguerite's rigid back.  "I'm sorry, John.  She's awfully hard to lie to, you know."

"Down right scary, isn't she?"  Roxton's rueful smile accepted Malone's apology.

"Is there anything I can do to make it up to you?  I mean, apologize to her or whatever?"

"You've already done a lot, my friend, taking care of Marguerite when I couldn't.  But …"  Roxton's eyes narrowed into a speculative gleam, his hand rubbed his still smooth chin.  "… there _is_ one thing.  Where do you think you and Veronica will be tonight?"

**********

Mottled jungle green, fed with lost time,  
harsh as hunger, soft as sleep.

He tastes her, savors.  
Lingers long.  
Tongues soft folds,  
the entries,  
the curves.  
Dines well  
and waits.  
Until she comes to him.

..........

"Damn the man," Marguerite muttered as she slapped a platter of cold smoked boar and sliced melon on the table in the great room.  "Challenger, why do I bother talking to you?  You're forever scaring the crap out of me."

Challenger, miles away with Malone, Veronica and the Lizard party, didn't hear.  And most likely wouldn't have answered even if he had.

For Marguerite, the morning had been so pleasant:  First, waking up to find Roxton's leashed passion pressed against her, an exciting hardness in the small of her back.  Then quietly watching with him as the early sun brought soft fire to the air.  After going with the Lizards to scatter Gorkal's ashes and saying Lizard prayers, she'd trimmed Roxton's hair to a cool short brush, and he'd leaned against her all the while and breathed quiet words about how beautiful she was and how much he longed to please her.  Roxton had felt warmly solid, and he'd smelled masculine and alive, and his hair had curled tightly around her fingers as though it too wanted to hold her close.

And Challenger had bloody smashed it all with his scientific facts.

Marguerite had tried to keep on a good-cheer face.  She was sure Roxton hadn't suspected the task that Challenger had set her:  To watch for relapse or deterioration.  "Don't worry," Milady had reassured Marguerite.  "It's just a precaution, but if you can find excuses to inspect Lord Roxton's body, it would be a good idea.  Just for the next day or so."

"Exactly how long?" Marguerite had demanded, wanting to know when this new torture would end.

Milady's scaly Lizard brow had wrinkled.  "Oh, I don't know.  Let's say – through tomorrow morning.  Yes, another day should be enough, wouldn't you say, Doctor Challenger?"  Milady had turned to where Challenger had stood just a moment ago, but he and General Gengal had already left Gorkal's lair.

A minute later Malone and Roxton had joined Marguerite, and there'd been no further chance for questions.  The two men had seemed blissfully unaware of her upset – or perhaps they were just ignoring her.

Marguerite wouldn't have worried so much, if it weren't for Roxton's beard.  Such a silly thing to worry about, his beard.  Especially since she'd always abhorred it.  But it normally grew so fast he always seemed to have five-day's growth, and its stiff bristles usually tickled when they kissed.  Tonight, a full twenty-four hours since Roxton's resurrection, he ought to have at least an eighth-inch of dark stubble, but although Roxton hadn't shaved today, he still had no beard.  Marguerite didn't like it, not at all.  It suggested that Roxton's body had other hidden and more critical failures.

Late in the afternoon Veronica had whispered in Marguerite's ear as they loaded a pack with water and journey bread, "What's wrong?  You look miserable.  Are you worried about the hike back to the tree house?  Ned said you two wanted to be alone, but we could come with you."

Marguerite had answered quickly.  "No!  Don't you dare!"  Looking into Veronica's innocent young face, Marguerite saw true concern.  "It's nothing.  Challenger and Milady say there's a remote chance Roxton might relapse.  I'm a little worried, that's all.  You know me -- a worry a day keeps the witch doctor in ju-ju beads."

Veronica studied Marguerite's tense smile.  "There's nothing they can do if …?"

Marguerite shook her head vigorously, sending her unbraided dark mane flying, and muttered a choked, "No, nothing."

Veronica's transparent face showed her own worry, but she didn't speak of it.  "Then the best thing you can do is to tell Roxton how you feel.  All of it.  The truth.  It's the only thing you can do."  Veronica pushed back Marguerite's loose hair from her face.  "If you don't, you'll regret it the rest of your life.  You know that now, don't you?"

"You make it sound so easy," Marguerite snapped but her anger flip-flopped as soon as she heard her own harsh words.  "No, I didn't mean that.  I'm sorry."  She put a hand on Veronica's arm.  "I'll try.  Believe me, I'll try.  And I wish you the greatest happiness with Ned.  He's a fine man.  It's been so nice watching you two get close."

Veronica laughed and looked to where Malone talked to Roxton and Challenger.  Seeing her eyes on him, Ned raised his eyebrows in question.  Veronica blew him a kiss.  He smiled.  "I owe it all to you, Marguerite, and watching you try to live without Roxton.  I didn't want that kind of regret in my life.  You've gone through Hell."

Hell would have been a more pleasant abode than where Marguerite had spent the last two months, but Marguerite had news for Veronica – her subterranean residence hadn't finished yet.  Roxton was only flesh-and-blood.  He wouldn't live forever.  If nothing else, Marguerite had absorbed that lesson.  Her only certainty with him was tonight, and as Veronica had counseled, Marguerite must use it wisely.

Marguerite went to the cupboards for their last bottle of Challenger's red melon brandy.  The next batch wouldn't be ready to drink for a several more weeks, but she felt sure the others would sympathize with her need to celebrate, to loosen up and forget.  Her heart kept whispering to her that she had nothing to remember Roxton, no pictures or drawings, nothing to hold against her heart and keep forever.  She needed that.  She needed tonight.  She wanted it, she wanted him.

But it had been a long, difficult day, and an interminable hike home and she'd already irretrievably disappointed Roxton.  In typical Roxton form, he'd been so impatient he'd wanted to find a safe place and stop along the way.  At one point he'd halted beneath a large tree and pointed at a wide, flat fork about ten feet off the ground.  "This looks good, don't you think, Marguerite?  Safe, comfy.  We spread your blanket up there, and it'd be as nice as Claridge's in London.  Fresh air, beautiful scenery, birdsong for our music.  It'd be our love nest.  What do you say?"

After her meeting with Milady and Challenger, Marguerite had lost the mood and all she could think was, _What if you fall and hurt yourself?  What am I to do then?_  She'd unthinkingly snapped, "You must be kidding, Roxton.  Out here?  In front of God and everybody?  I don't think so."  Ignoring his hurt look, she'd marched on.  He'd been distant ever since.

Marguerite needed to return to this morning's mood and the excitement and pleasure Roxton had offered.  She had to have it back.  Tonight was her everything.  The rest of her life in the next twelve hours.  She would please him.  She would tell him her heart.

**********

Flag red, waves, ocean blue and white:  
England island-striped yesterday.  Gone.

Her hands ask  
and find  
him waiting.  
He knows  
her shape  
and where he fits.  
They move.

..........

Marguerite lifted her brandy in another toast.  "To us … no, I think this time to you, John.  To my hero, my shining knight."  When Roxton didn't lift his glass in return, she leaned over and clicked his with hers.  "To you, John."

Marguerite had transformed once again.  From the temptress of last night and this morning, in the afternoon she'd transmuted to a tight-mouthed spitfire, and tonight … Roxton didn't know what to call her tonight:  Maudlin?  Morose?  She seemed sad.  A unique Marguerite watched him across the table full of dirtied dishes.  He'd never seen her quite like this.

Not sure if Marguerite had been teasing him, Roxton laughed and shook his head.  "Me?  A hero?  You've mistaken me for someone else, Marguerite.  I only want to stay alive."

"No, you want everyone else to stay alive."  Marguerite looked into her goblet at the faint candlelight rainbowing through the rich red liquid.  Did her voice have just the slightest slur?  "You, Lord Roxton, you're our scapegoat, our sacrificial ram.  Whenever the plateau demands a blood sacrifice, you open your veins and give it."

She took a sip of brandy and Roxton tried to speak, but Marguerite wouldn't let him.  "No!  Don't you dare contradict me, John!  You've offered to die for me a dozen times."  Marguerite's beautiful eyes began to fill with tears.  "You're my hero.  You'll always be my hero."  She slipped from her chair and came to kneel by Roxton's.  Her arms went to his waist, her head to his chest.  She held on to him without further words.

Roxton stroked Marguerite's dark hair.  There'd been no sarcasm in her voice; she'd meant everything she'd said.  Two years ago, even one year ago, Roxton might have tried to joke Marguerite out of this, might have told her something silly like, _I'm not as smart as Challenger so I make do with what I have._  Lightness wouldn't serve anymore.  She'd become too vulnerable, too patently in love.  That last thought made his heart skip a beat.  "What brought this on?" he asked softly.  "You've been unhappy all afternoon and now this paean.  I'm overwhelmed."

Marguerite sniffled into his chest.  "Nothing.  Just missed you."

"I don't believe you, Marguerite.  You're frightened."  He kissed her forehead and tried to remember the early part of the day and just when Marguerite's spirits had sunk.  "Was it Malone talking about werewolves?  He was just …"

"It wasn't Malone!  It wasn't anyone."

"Challenger then.  Challenger and Milady told you something that gave you a scare."  He considered the possibilities.  "Am I not out of the woods yet?"  He lifted her chin so he could look into her eyes, but they skipped away.  "That's it, isn't it?"  He pushed Marguerite back a little so she could clearly see his face, if she could only bring herself to look.  "Do you trust me, Marguerite?"

Marguerite's gaze snapped back to Roxton.  Her eyes searched his.  Her waiting tears overflowed and she let them fall unheeded.  Roxton forced himself to ignore them too.  "You've made me trust you, John.  Before there was you, I didn't trust anyone."

"Then trust me on this:  I am _not_ going to die tonight."  To be honest, Roxton didn't know that for sure, but Marguerite didn't need more uncertainty, and he hung his faith on Challenger, who surely would have come with them if there'd been any real danger.  Even the heedless scientist wouldn't leave Marguerite to cope with that alone.  Roxton's finger traced through the tears running down Marguerite's cheek.  "Now tell me that you believe me."

"I … I believe."  The words came out reluctantly.  Marguerite said it only because he'd demanded.  But she _had_ said it and perhaps now she breathed just a bit easier.

Roxton brought his fingers, wet with Marguerite's tears, to where he could see the shine.  "Look at that – I've made you cry some more.  That's all I seem to do lately.  I'm sorry."

Marguerite's tremulous smile came out.  "You should be.  I'm getting dehydrated here.  Hand me my brandy, would you please?"

"That's my girl!"  Roxton's laugh boomed as he pulled Marguerite up.  "Up you go now!  Here sit on my lap.  That's right."  He hugged her tight then reached for her brandy.  But as Roxton leaned to the side, his stick chair protested its double load with a series of pops.  That was followed by a gunshot-loud crack announcing critical structural failure.  The chair gave way, and chair, Roxton, and Marguerite collapsed in a muddled and giggling heap on the floor.


	2. Ending 1

ENDING #1:

**********

Gold, true soft metal,  
shining, gilded devotion.

She claims  
him.  
Her power  
carries them  
to pleasure  
and a home for hearts  
where love  
loses time  
and gains all else.

..........

She had known it would be like this, to dance his dance, and that she could follow his lead with no trouble at all because everything he did was to please her and everything he did pleased.

The laughter had started it, and the kissing – and the floor that had been so conveniently beneath.  And so here they were with some clothes on and some off, and everything in mad disarray.  Roxton's large hands were under her, and between their bodies, his slick sweat.

And Roxton moved.  He moved so easily, in a rhythm as comfortingly regular as his heartbeat and as steady as his breath in her ear.

And every time Roxton moved …

she climbed higher.

Love was so effortless with Roxton, and he would live forever.  Hadn't he told her so?

His soft mouth came back to hers and his well-trained tongue performed miracles.  Then he paused his rhythm and put his hands to her hair and whispered in her ear, "Come to me, Marguerite.  I want to please you.  Come to me."

And then he started again,

and this round he found her

ready,

willing,

and able

to do what he asked.  And after a bit her heart stopped beating so fast and her moans died down and eventually she quit shaking.  But it took some time and while she was thus occupied, Roxton caught up and gave Marguerite everything in his heart.  And she hugged him for his gift and told him how much she'd wanted it.

While they lay cooling, she said a silent prayer for a tiny something to grow against her heart and cherish as Roxton's memory.  Then, since she didn't have a rabbit's foot to kiss for luck, she kissed Roxton.

**********

Clear shine, flowing, a  
hot yellow morning falls like water.

Her green vines twine  
to hold him  
closer  
under skin  
than blood.  
His life  
in hers,  
hers in him.

..........

Roxton woke up before Marguerite.  Actually he'd slept very little last night.  After their first miraculous coupling on the great room floor, he'd carried Marguerite to her oriel chamber and pulled up all the room's bamboo blinds.  Lying together on her bed, they'd watched the stars pinwheel through the heavens and skitter among the trees.  It had been so quiet.  Marguerite had only spoken when she'd wanted him again, and even then she'd only said his name.

Marguerite looked peaceful this morning.  Curled up on her side, she lay turned away from where Roxton stood and towards the sun.  A stripe of light peeped through bamboo slats and shifted across her as she breathed.  Putting the coffee tray down on the floor, Roxton sat on the bed and watched the sun stripe kiss her.

But Roxton hadn't been careful enough.  With the shifting of the bed ropes, Marguerite stirred and her rhythmic breathing sped up.  Her hand went out to where Roxton had lain most of the night.  After she discovered that space empty, she pulled the sheet to her chin and sat up.  "John?"  Finding him nowhere in sight, her lips and eyes tightened.  Against the bright morning light, her sharpened profile looked panicked.  Apparently Marguerite's peacefulness was still on the fragile side.

"Right behind you, Marguerite."

She spun on her buttocks and fiercely hugged him.  "Oh God!  I was so worried."

Roxton's arms encircled her.  "You're being silly, you know.  Where would I go?  After last night, I can barely walk."  Roxton rubbed Marguerite's cheek with his.  His beard made a slight scratching sound as it scraped against her soft skin.

Marguerite recoiled and her hand flew to her face.  "Ouch!  That hurt!"  But she wasn't angry, more amazed.  Her hand went from her face to his, and her fingertips delicately tested the depth of the stubble on his chin.

"Oh, sorry.  I guess my beard's finally decided to show itself."  Roxton bent over, retrieved the tray from the floor and set it on the bed.  "Here, you drink your coffee and I'll go shave."  He started to rise.

Marguerite's fingers locked around Roxton's wrist and pulled him back.  "Don't you dare, John!  You let that beard grow!  I want to watch it sprout out all over your face.  It's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen."

Roxton's eyebrows lifted in surprise.  Although Marguerite seldom complained about his beard, he knew she didn't like it.  "I beg your pardon?"

**********

New blue water, feathered with the river  
and yesterday's rain.

Storm, siege, gale,  
typhoon,  
monsoon,  
hurricane  
and tornado.  
Wind and war  
he leaves behind  
for the quiet,  
for the peace,  
for her.

..........

"Well, don't you look like the cat that ate the canary," Roxton said as Marguerite sat down beside him on the balcony settee and handed him his cup of tea.  "I take it Challenger says you're not dying after all."  He'd said the last words lightly but his tight face betrayed his concern.

It had been two months since Roxton had returned from the wolf.  It taken a while for Marguerite to stop cozening him and fretting, but in time they'd resumed their schedule of daily spats.  Then Marguerite's health had turned precarious with severe nausea and even vomiting.  For the past two weeks she'd been bed-bound part of every day, and it had been Roxton's turn to live his life in panic.

When, out of consideration of her health, Roxton had stopped coming to her bed, she'd come to his – and his was much smaller.  She'd said she couldn't sleep without him anymore, and that she'd be damned if she would try.  So he'd given that up, and they slept together in the oriel chamber every night like wife and husband.  Since Veronica and Malone had begun to share one bed as well, they pretty much ignored the change.  And Challenger … Challenger spent a great deal more time in his workshop working on electric lights and other mysterious, unnamed experiments.

Malone and Veronica had hinted at a double wedding, until Marguerite in her usual secretive way had vetoed her participation – at least for now.  That's what Marguerite had said, right in front of Roxton, and he hadn't even worked up the courage to ask her yet:  _At least for now._  It gave one hope.  Although Marguerite had told the blond couple not to postpone their own celebration, the two had not spoken of ceremonies again.

When Roxton asked about the delay, Malone said Veronica anticipated a change in a plateau weather pattern.  She and Malone had been observing it for quite some time.  They wanted to see if it would be a gale, a rain shower, or an endless string of perfect sunlit days.  Roxton had not appreciated the ambiguity, but he could get no more out of Malone.

Whatever weather change Malone expected, it didn't seem likely to arrive today.  Bright late morning sun poured through the bamboo blinds, just as it had each morning for the past month or more.  In the nearby trees, birds discussed their plans for the day.  Far away, dinosaurs roared and honked, sounding a bit like London traffic.  The elevator had just finished rattling from Malone and Veronica descending for a morning harvesting expedition to their garden patch.  Challenger was still down in his workshop where Marguerite had left him.

Marguerite laughed as she tucked her legs up beneath her.  "Well, Challenger said there's a bird involved, but it's not a canary.  And this morning I feel really great.  I haven't felt so wonderful in years."  She took a sip of her tea and stared off into the forest canopy, a dreamy, Mona Lisa smile on her face.

Roxton gave her as much time as he could stand – about two minutes, maybe a bit less.  "Alright, Marguerite, you've got me.  What's the bird?  Have you picked up parrot fever?"

Obviously enjoying Roxton's dangling state, Marguerite's mischievous smile curled at the ends.  "No, not a parrot.  It's a European bird.  No, actually, I think it's African for most of the year."

"An African bird?"  Roxton's confusion pulled his eyebrows together.

"Yes, a big white and black bird, with long orange legs and a pointy bill."  When Roxton still watched her in bewilderment, she relented.  "A stork, John, a stork."

**********

Sweet-grained, solid, honey-caked:  
Cinnamon man, nutmeg woman, spiced.

Together they   
write it:  
out of  
the flowing forest air,  
the silent hours:  
their recipe  
for life.

..........

FINIS #1


	3. Ending 2

ENDING #2:

**********

White orchid woman, pink lobed, green eyed.  
Whorled, petaled, waiting.

She is of  
summer,  
creation,  
and wanting.  
She has  
the scent of life.  
He breathes.

..........

When the chair collapsed, Marguerite landed on Roxton's lap.  The brandy landed on Marguerite.  As Roxton licked it away, his tongue connected with all the right places.  Marguerite giggled like a school girl.  Roxton's chuckles boomed in her ear.

Laughing, they struggled to their feet, but then leaning over to pick up the chair, they bumped heads.  That put them on the floor again.

The next kiss had been long and slow and deep, and after Roxton pulled up Marguerite's skirt and sent his fingers exploring, she'd wanted to have him right then.  But that wouldn't do, not for what might be their only time together.  Men liked to feel in charge, and the least she could do was preserve the illusion.

Getting Roxton's tight Lizard breeches off produced more hilarity.  The leather bound him as tightly as a chastity belt.  And when Marguerite offered to apply a little gun oil, he thought it a comic, rather than a sensual suggestion.  So with grimaces and giggles they tugged the breeches down far enough for release.

Her dreams had been fantastic, but not like this, with the real Roxton ready, his green eyes soft, his hands shaking when he pulled her close.

Roxton took great care, letting Marguerite gradually expand to accommodate him.  In fact, it was so slowly and gently done, it made her want to scream.  And when Marguerite seemed to feel Roxton everywhere, screams did escape the last shreds of her restraint.  And she moaned.  And cried because this might be her only time with him.  And Roxton paused and asked if she were all right.

"Don't stop, don't stop, don't stop," was all Marguerite could gasp.

So Roxton didn't.  Not again.  Not even after Marguerite's legs wrapped him and her booted heels dug in and she'd put herself in control.  He hadn't seemed to notice that.  And when Roxton's time came, he tried to withdraw, but Marguerite's legs locked him in, and he was past stopping.  She held on tight and soothed him with soft and loving whispers.  But soon there'd be Hell to pay.  Roxton would be furious.

**********

Fig, cherry, live oak, mahogany.  
Time carved, grained and grooved.

He holds her.  
Takes care with her.  
Shelters her.  
He is her home.  
When afraid,  
she finds him.  
He belongs  
to her.

..........

"Oh, so you think I'm trying to trap you, is that it?  Well, there's still a lot about me you don't know!  And I _guarantee_ that any time you want to escape you can!  I'm not laying any snares for you, Lord Roxton.  You're not worth the trouble!"  Marguerite shouted at the top of her lungs, even though she and Roxton stood almost nose-to-nose.

Roxton's tone was considerably calmer than Marguerite's, but had an angry edge.  Marguerite had played a trick on him, and he didn't like it.  "You know that's not what I meant, Marguerite.  I'm already captured, and hog-tied, and whatever else, you want to call me.  But risking a child, out here, with you so uncertain about us …"

Marguerite had cooled down, but not by much.  "I'm uncertain?  You mean I don't know what I want?  Well, I guess that explains it all, doesn't it?"  Leaving Roxton by the great room table, Marguerite stomped to her room.

Roxton gave her a minute or two then followed.  This had to be worked out.

"And just where do you think you're going?" Roxton demanded from the entry to Marguerite's bedroom.  Marguerite didn't look up at him but jammed a few more things into her already full pack: a hairbrush, some rumpled and unwashed clothes and a small pillow.  She sniffled audibly.  Damn, he'd started Marguerite crying again.

"I don't know and I don't care.  Just someplace else."

Roxton descended the three steps into the oriel chamber, moved to where Marguerite stood underneath her bedroom lamp and stilled her frantically busy hands.  "You can't do that.  That's how this whole thing started – me running out in the middle of the night, alone and upset."

Picking up the pack, Marguerite turned and gave Roxton a good hard shove to get him out of her path.  "I told you I don't care!  Any place is better than here!  I don't need you.  I don't need anyone."

"But I need you.  Please, Marguerite, don't do this."

Marguerite stopped to look at Roxton in amazement.  "You _need_ me?  I just spent two months mourning you while you were sniffing around my knees as a wolf, hiding from me, _lying_ to me!  And you need me?"

She had him there.  "I'm sorry, if I'd known what else to do ..."

"You know what hurt the most, Roxton?  Do you have any idea?"

From Marguerite's waiting and raised eyebrows, she actually expected an answer to that, so Roxton shook his head and whispered, "No."

Marguerite watched Roxton closely, and when he, deep in thought, briefly tilted back his head and squinted at the lamp above him, her tense face suddenly went soft.  Roxton watched Marguerite's hand rise to his chin in little, hesitant jerks, until her fingernails scraped through his newly sprouting beard.  She actually smiled.  Encouraged, Roxton turned his head and kissed Marguerite's fingertips.

At the touch of Roxton's lips, Marguerite sighed and closed her eyes.  Then she seemed to recollect herself and pulled her hand away.  "When you were … dead, I hurt so much.  I had this empty place inside of me because I had nothing left of you, John, just memories and…and your damned gun collection.  I needed something more, so much more.  I still do."  Roxton's hands went to hold Marguerite's.  His face came very close to hers.

"No, please don't kiss me.  I'd never finish this and I need to make you understand."  Roxton didn't move away but he came no closer.  Marguerite continued in a subdued whisper.  "Here on the plateau, you might die tomorrow or next week.  It's hell to love a hero, John.  Don't deny me this.  If you don't want the responsibility, when it's time I'll go live somewhere else.  But…but when you find a way off the plateau, I hope you'll let us come with you."

Roxton's heart beat very fast.  He didn't even notice Marguerite's love confession.  "You want my child?  Oh my God, Marguerite, oh my God."  And picking up Marguerite like a new bride, Roxton carried her to the bed.

**********

A gray river stone path to  
a future that leads everywhere.

Leaping,  
past the river  
monster,  
past the sky  
witness,  
past the forest  
and the night,  
she finds him.  
She finds peace.

..........

FINIS #2


End file.
